Being Green
by ultraviolent-gypsy
Summary: Dr. Green, that's how everybody called her. Nobody knew her real name. It was impossible to find anything about her. Why was such a brilliant, beautitul and rich scientist so incredibly mysterious? Someone traced her back to a town in southern Russia, on the Black Sea, where a little girl used to play with jellyfish just to see her skin turn green and scaly, like a viper's.


\- Your name.

\- Anna Green.

\- Your _real_ name.

She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt and glanced at her interlocutor. A lock of golden hair moved from behind her ear and fell gently on her chest.

\- Anna Mikhailovna Zelyonova.

\- Better.

\- You already knew it. – she whispered, now fidgeting with her hair. She had never been so nervous and quiet her whole life. Why was it all happening now?

\- Of course. – a light chuckle. She couldn't tell whether it was sincere or fake. She hated not being able to sense his real intentions; that man was like a locked safe covered by a mask. It was absolutely unnerving. She looked at him again, this time focusing on his eyes. They looked lifeless. He wasn't a threat; he looked so emaciated that she could have easily knocked him down with a precise kick, but she still felt threatened. He stood up. He was as tall as her, not a big deal, although she was still very tall for a woman. Her legs had enchanted dozens of men, hopefully he wasn't going to be an exception. She carefully raised her shirt, exposing an inch of her long, smooth, porcelain thighs, and crossed her legs to let the skirt rise even more.

He chuckled again, startling her. - Do you really call yourself Viper? – he paced around, and ran his hand through his long blonde hair. He wasn't looking at her.

She let out an almost inaudible chuckle, and looked down. - Not to most people –. Her voice became so quiet it almost impossible to hear, but it resonated through her head. She was getting nervous, her accent was showing up again.

\- So what can I call you? Anna? Viper? Doctor? – he stopped right in front of her. She looked up at him, feeling small for the first time in her life. He was smiling, but she still couldn't tell if it was fake.

She took a deep breath. - Anna is fine. –

\- We're getting personal, Nyusha. I can call you Nyusha, right? – he smiled again. Not Nyusha. A sudden memory of a little girl on the beach, showing the other children that she could touch the jellyfish and make her skin turn scaly and green, without feeling any pain, and her mum calling her out. " _Nyusha, stop, come here!_ ". She felt even smaller in front of him, clinging to the chair.

\- If we're getting personal, what can _I_ call you? – she found the courage to speak up. She stared at him in the eye, and he immediately looked away.

\- You can call me Kostya, _dorogaya_. – he sat down again.

She smiled. Somehow, with such a common and almost cute nickname, and calling her "my dear", he didn't feel so intimidating anymore. - Why are we speaking English, Kostya? – she said, turning towards him and adjusting her skirt. He stretched his neck and it made a loud cracking sound. He looked at the ceiling, making his neck crack some more, and pointed at the cheap, dusty chandelier. - _Slushayut_. –. They are listening.

She felt her blood freeze. Who was listening? Why? Her hands started trembling.

\- _Ne bespoko_ _j_ _tes. Vsyo v poryadke._ _Tol'ko mera predostorozhnosti_ _._ – Just a precaution. His smile softened and his lifeless eyes seemed to light up, as he crossed his legs. Hearing someone speak her native language after such a long time, even such a mysterious man in that situation, was almost comforting. She let out a - _Yasno_. – and took a deep breath.

He stretched his back, keeping it straight against the chair. He took some papers from the desk besides him. - So, Nyusha, tell me everything I need to know about yourself. Don't let out any detail. –.

\- What do you already know about me? – she asked, resting her arms on her thighs.

He shook his head, and looked at her in the eye. - I know you're a great chemist and biologist, oncologist, a developer, public speaker and a criminal. And, of couse, a mutant. And you apparently love fashion. – he took a look at the papers in his hands – I know you were born on November 25, 1983 in Rostov-Na-Donu from Marina Ivanovna Bakunina and Mikhail Zelyonov, what a fitting name. In 1988 you moved all the way over to the small Dobrinskij, in the middle of Siberia; believe it or not, I'm also from the region of Surgut. Why such a sudden and drastic move? Maybe to hide from the eyes of the curious people who thought you were a monster, the child of the devil? –. She felt a shiver run down her spine. – But how did it happen, exactly? That's what I want to know. – he put the papers back on the desk.

She looked at him, almost asking for help. She didn't want to relive that time. She met his gaze, blue eyes against blue eyes. - _Kto vy? Skazhi mne._ – she whispered.

He shook his head. - I just need to know. –. His voice sounded sweeter.


End file.
